


The Jester

by marlowe78



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Gen, Implied Violence, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Restraints, Swearing, bad Bat, deconstruction of a comic-book-hero
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-13
Updated: 2015-02-13
Packaged: 2018-03-12 05:41:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3345638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marlowe78/pseuds/marlowe78
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two names now, two identities. New hair-color and a life of fighting crime - what's not to like? Maybe he should just accept that being one of the good guys means sacrifices, and that your innocence is one of them. Both your innocences, to be perfectly clear...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Jester

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this prompt [here](http://spnkink-meme.livejournal.com/92918.html?thread=36393462#t36393462). (though I just realized that the last part of the story isn't even in here. Whoops)
> 
> If you are not comfortable with one of your superheroes turning out to be the bad guy, don't read this. Or if you do, please don't complain. If you're not sure which one - check the tags, the hint is there.
> 
> Any similarities to known side-characters in the comic or cartoon-movie are completely deliberate.

Dick had warned him. _“Always lock your doors at night”_ and _”Never value anything more than justice and fighting crime”_ and most memorable in hindsight, _”Don’t trust people”_

Jensen, at the wise old age of fourteen, had smiled, nodded and promptly forgotten about it. _If only the fucker would have been more precise,_ he thought sometimes. But he wasn’t really angry – after all, that’d been good advice and he shouldn’t blame someone else for dismissing it.

“You’re so fine, so innocent,” the rough voice whispered in his ear and Jensen turned his head away and rolled his eyes. _I’m as innocent as the Joker, you fucker_ he thought, but of course he knew better than to voice his opinion. He wasn’t stupid enough for that. Not anymore.

The first time Bruce had come into his room, it was a caring, fatherly talk on the bedside. Some good advice, some kind smiles, a pat on the head. Jensen hadn’t bothered to lock his door after that – Bruce had _promised_ no-one would come inside the mansion.

He’d been right about that, at least – no stranger ever went into Jensen’s room.

No stranger ever touched him like that, either.

Jensen supposed he shouldn’t really be grateful for that little fact, but he’d been told over and over that some people liked to share their little princes, that there would be a lot of money to be made from a video of Jensen – that it could just so happen Bruce would one day come ‘too late’ to save Jensen from the villains and who _knew_ what could happen to a slim, pretty little boy in the hands of villains… well.

Some things you really didn’t want to find out.

He’d been so young and so in awe of Bruce back then. He’d been so in awe that he hadn’t protested when it was suggested that he looked much better with black hair, and he hadn’t cared about his mouse-brown-blond hair color anyway, so… Why not dye it?

And after that time with the bed-sitting, there’d been training, training and even more training. He might call it brutal, or even harsh, but considering the things he could do now – the things he had to do now – it was just the right amount. In hindsight, the training hadn’t really been that bad, Jensen thought. In hindsight – and wasn’t that a _bitch_ \- the kindness, the care, the massages of his aching muscles after the strenuous efforts to hold his legs up for half an hour had been the bad things. The evil things.

He hadn’t noticed then. Maybe he’d been too tired or he just never cared enough to _look_ for things like that, but fact was… Jensen hadn’t noticed until that night when Bruce came into his room, stroked him with a firm hand in places those hands had no business being and shushed him with words and with his lips.

Dick hadn’t been in the city the next day, or Jensen might’ve had someone to talk to, or someone who would believe him. He’d not dared talk to Alfred – because seriously, that old dude loved Bruce like his son, he wouldn’t have believed him – and so he’d just vowed to be smarter and lock his door.

Bruce had a key, though. Should have known.

Training continued, as had the touching and on nights where they actually went out to fight crime, Bruce came into Jensen’s bed, grabbing, stroking and crying into Jensen’s skin.

But then, he had a soft, cozy bed, a roof over his head, good meals three times a day and snacks as many as he wanted. Well… within reasons. Wouldn’t want a chubby sidekick now, would you? Especially if any fat was like a beacon to Bruce for licking and kissing and holding on to… Eww.

It wasn’t so bad, Jensen had told himself. Just some kindness, just someone longing for human touch. If your girlfriend was a cat, and a prickly one as that… well. Jensen could even understand it a little.

All his understanding changed the night he got fucked for the first time, though.

They’d been out, chasing some asshole serial-bank-robbers. It’d been fairly easy, a little gun-waving and a lot more shouting, two fired shots and a lot of growling. Jensen’d made a mistake and had briefly been taken hostage, but since he wasn’t some punk-ass streetkid anymore, he’d quickly gotten out of the situation.

It hadn’t really been an issue, but that night, Bruce crept into his bed and instead of leaving it with the already well-known touches, he started rutting against Jensen. _”Nearly lost you, don’t want to lose you”_ had been whispered in his ear, and when he’d felt his shorts being drawn away from his buttocks, he’d finally started fighting back.

But Bruce was a lot heavier, a lot more skilled in combat than a slightly-skinny though well-trained fifteen-year-old boy, and there hadn’t been anything Jensen could do. His pleas had fallen on deaf ears, and Jensen had just given up then.

It had hurt, but worse than the pain – compared to what could happen to him on patrol it was really nothing – had been that Bruce made sure Jensen had his own orgasm.

As soon as he’d been alone again, Jensen slipped into the shower and stayed there until the morning-sunlight changed the darkness to a dull grey.

At breakfast, Jensen tried to assess Alfred’s possible reaction if he would ever hear about his Master’s nightly adventures. He’d not even started speaking when Bruce turned up, patted Jensen on the back and took him under his shoulder.

“Hey, kid. Did you get any sleep after your nightmare? If you ever want to talk about it, you know I’m always here to listen. Right?” Jensen felt the too-hard grip on his shoulder, concealed as friendly, fatherly touch but definitely a warning.

He wouldn’t get anywhere with Alfred, he’d known then, and over time it proved as true.

**

From then on, Jensen had been expected to be Bruce’s bedmate. At least his own room was left alone now, their little ‘affairs’, as Bruce would call them, had been delegated to the master-bedroom. “Much more space”, Bruce said, “more comfortable.”

Not that Jensen cared much about comfort. He was there to be fucked, that much was clear, and his own wishes and wants didn’t count at all. Every “no” was taken as “yes please”, every “wait” as “hurry up”. He’d just stopped speaking at all – it wasn’t required, thank God – and ever since that disaster in July, when Jensen’d finally found the courage to speak up and go to the police, he just let everything pass over him.

His greatest wish though would be that Bruce left his own dick out of the equation and would concentrate on his billionaire-cock instead. Jensen hated - _hated_ \- to be forced into orgasm, and even when his researches online had told him that it was completely natural to respond, he always felt dirty and disgusting after.

If he got raped four nights out of seven, he’d rather not be confused about his own willingness.

But apparently Bruce thought it inconsiderate to leave Jensen hanging, that old fucker.

But July… yeah.

In early July, Jensen’d taken the step to free himself of those duties and it exploded into his own face spectacularly.

They hadn’t believed him. No-one had believed him, in fact they thought at once that Jensen had been brainwashed by one of those colorful villains to spread lies over Bruce. Those in the force that had known about their secret identity at once jumped to that conclusion, had pitied Jensen and called – yes, of course – Bruce to ‘help the poor boy back to himself’.

Oh yeah, he’d been helped alright.

Jensen’d never again opened his mouth about it. Not after being left gagged and tied up naked to a rooftop for hours, his only company the earbuds through which Bruce had kept a running commentary on the known villains in the area and what they would do to sweet little Jensen, offered like that.

When the connection had been cut between them, he’d still been on the roof. Alone. Cold. With nothing but the hazy night-sky above and too many images in his head.

When Bruce had come to get him, he’d been a tear-soaked, smelly mess – because that fucker just snuck up on him, making just enough noise for Jensen to hear and with all those possible people coming for him, he’d pissed himself in fear.

Funny, how being made to walk back to the car pissed, naked and half-frozen had Jensen decide to never-ever again tell about his mentor’s little secret.

**

He was eighteen now, skilled and quick in combat, smart and athletic. And still, he was Bruce’s fucktoy, maybe not as regularly as before but Jensen sure as hell knew his place when his mentor got _that look_ in his eyes. Bedroom, now, and no word would come over his lips.

When he’d been younger, Bruce had often been tearful and gentle – never kind, because you can’t rape someone kindly – but now, he seemed to take all his anger during the patrols out in the bed. Or maybe it was because Jensen wasn’t such a sweet little youngling anymore?  
Either way, Jensen was more often than not covered in bruises and marks, ligature-lines around his ankles and wrists from the ropes used to bind him to the bed-posts.

Not that Jensen would really flee, but he’d gotten one or two nice kicks in over the last years, and ever since, he got tied up.

‘Lucky’ that during their crime-fighting, Jensen got tied up often enough to never raise suspicion, and lucky that he got into a lot of physical fights during their apprehensions. Sure, Ba – uh, Bruce never liked when Jensen got a bit more physical than strictly necessary, but fuck him. Fuck. Him!

But if Jensen couldn’t do much anymore for his own safety, he would make damn sure the bad guys they met along the way got coming what they deserved. Maybe even a bit more. And if that was called ‘excessive use of violence’ and would be frowned upon by the Chief of Police, well, Jensen didn’t give a damn. Nobody had listened to _him_ , so they could stuff their high-nosed opinions up their asses!

** (next post)

Jared didn’t like taking hostages. In fact, he absolutely hated it. But Jeff was his brother, and he was in deep shit – once again – so he’d do what was necessary to get him out of there.

It wasn’t known that there were two of them. Everyone assumed The Jester was just one guy, a mad cross between the Joker and the Riddler, not as nasty as the first and only half as annoying as the second, though efficient enough to create attention.

Jeff was under high suspicion now, and that nasty black-clad bat was sniffing around his office. If Jared didn’t do something drastic that would cause people to doubt the evidence, he’d end up in prison.

Not underserved, Jared thought, but at least half of his misdeeds were in fact Jared’s deeds. Hee.

So, all this was reason enough for Jared to snatch that dorky kid in the red suit from the bat, hold him hostage until Mr. Dark-Tall-and probably-Handsome would come and get him back and then make his escape, leaving Jeff in the dry afterwards. ‘Cause what better alibi than sitting in a police-interrogation in front of half the force, right?

Catching the kid was easier than he’d thought. He lured the bat and the kid out on the streets with a nice bank-robbery, then he just convinced his friend Henna to scream in terror. She was an awesome actress, so it didn’t take long for the red kid to go to the rescue while the ‘hero’ was playing with Jared. Or so he thought – Jared had left a voice-recorder inside the bank which provided some nice background-noise of groaning hostages and yelling accomplices. And of course Jared’s voice, altered in the usual way so there would be no-one who’d catch on to the Jester being in fact two people.

“Ah, and here I thought you cared about those hostages here, Batman. What did you say? I can just shoot Tina here? She’s probably not even shocked – all out of Gotham’s underside, she’d be used to shots, right, Tina?” Here, he played the pleading voice he’d recorded earlier. It sounded amazing, though of course horrible considering that in the video he’d used, she’d been shot in the back just seconds later. It was a scene from some B-movie, but who would know that, right?

While he was convincing the old bat to wait just a bit longer until he entered and saved the day, Jared had found the kid-bird right at his trap-spot. One pressed button later, and the Boy-Wonder was lying unconscious in a puddle – that had been an accident, Jared wasn’t too fond of carrying a sopping-wet boy home, after all.

He grabbed the kid – sheesh, he was a lot taller than he’d always thought, he always looked so slim and narrow next to the flying rodent – and slipped out of the alley. The station-wagon was just where he’d ordered Henna to leave it and with a little shoving and folding, Birdboy was inside, hands and feet tied securely and of course all the weapons removed. The amount of sharp things on this kid was astonishing.

He didn’t even say goodbye to Rodent-Man, just left the site of crime to let him figure out that he’d been played and that there wasn’t even any money inside the bank. It had bankrupted two weeks earlier.

**

“Hey, wakey-wakey, Birdboy.”

The kid was tied up on an old mattress, hands cuffed to the pipes that led from the upstairs-floor down to the cellar. Jared made sure the heating was off – he didn’t want the boy to be in any pain. The kid was a pawn, nothing more. No use in damaging him.

A groan came from the boy, and for a minute, Jared considered removing the mask. But he didn’t feel exactly comfortable in undressing someone in a weaker position, especially not without consent. He’d either wait for that, or just stay curious about his identity.

“You awake in there?”

“Whut?” Eyes still half-mast, Jared’s guest tried to move his arms until the clank of the handcuffs stopped his motion. Up until here, Jared’d been very confident that his plan would play out without a hitch, but the reaction from Birdboy shot all his careful scheming to bits.

The boy was awake in an instant, trying to at once shuffle into the wall on his back and tear his arms out of his sockets. His eyes were huge, saucer-sized and panicked and his breathing was erratic and frantically fast. “Stay away, don’t touch me, stay the fuck away!”

“Hey, wow. Calm down there, Featherboy. I’m not touching you here, look?” He was far enough away but instinct had Jared move even farther back. As a teenager, he’d helped out in the animal-shelter in his town and he vividly remembered the abused shepherd they once brought in. That dog had looked eerily similar to his captive, aggression to the brim but too much terror in his eyes for people to mistake it as anything but fear.

“Go away, let me go, right now!”

“Sorry, kid. Can’t do that. Hey, not gonna hurt you – not gonna touch you, but you should stop that,” Jared pointed at the kid’s arms that were still twisting in the cuffs “or you’ll injure yourself.”

“Right,” snorted the kid, calmer now but still not _calm_ at all. “Because you’re such an honest guy.”

“Well… guess you got me there. But I’m not lying, and your wrists will chafe if you don’t stop.”

He wasn’t too sure, but Jared thought he heard something like _”Not like I don’t know that”_ from the boy. Huh.

“How about some food? You’ve been out for a while now, you must be hungry.”

“How about you untie me and we’ll see who’s gonna bring who food, asshole?”

Ah, snark. All bark, just like the shepherd. This was interesting, this would be a lot more interesting than simply giving Jeff an alibi. This was a riddle, and Jared loved riddles. He’d solve this one, that was for sure.

After he gave him something to eat.

**

So… the riddle was getting closer to be solved, but Jared wasn’t really sure he liked where it was going.  
To let the kid have his hands free for something to eat, Jared had to uncuff his wrists. He wasn’t keen on getting his ass kicked, though. What? He’d seen what that boy could do to people twice as large and filled with muscle, and Jared was a thinker, not a fighter at heart. So he’d brought a length of chains, slung it over the high-beams of the ceiling and locked them in place. The end had a pair of smooth, well-padded cuffs with another length of chain between them and he’d told the boy to lock himself in.

“I’ll give you the keys for your hands once you’re done with it, all right?”

But Featherboy had just snarled and spat. “You want me to do it? I can do that, but I’d have to touch you, and you didn’t want me to. So… what’ll it be? Touch and me, or you and your stupid pride?”

Even though Jared told himself it’d been the kid’s choice, he still felt pretty mean that he went over, sat backwards on the boy’s legs and unceremoniously cuffed his ankles.

He’d felt even worse, like utter shit, when he’d turned back around to undo his wrists and saw the glassy, absent gaze in the kid’s eyes. Even the stupid mask hadn’t helped any – that boy had spaced right out. Little shivers ran over his body and a cold sweat had coated his face. Carefully, he’d taken off the gloves to check for any chafing from the metal but had instead found half-healed scars – and many older ones, too – on the kid’s wrists.

Fuck, what the hell had happened to him?

Jared had undone the cuffs and left him on the mattress, not touching his captive again even though every inch of him was screaming to provide comfort. It wouldn’t have been appreciated, though, so he’d just left and gone to check the net for clues.

Which, now that Jared was staring at them, didn’t provide an easy solution to his suspicions.

There weren’t any recent abductions in the last year for the boy, not even a short one or anything that would leave marks on his wrists as fresh as those he’d seen. Which meant he didn’t get them from some villain. Which meant he got them somewhere else. Combined with the fear and catatonia he’d witnessed, he came to the conclusion that they weren’t due to happy playtimes, and a nasty, nasty idea grabbed hold of him now.

What would he do if his suspicion turned out to be true?

Absently, he picked up his phone when it rung and listened to the enthusiastic voice of his brother. “Yeah, you’re welcome. Now… shake any tail you might have and get your ass to the lair, I need to show you something.”

Jeff was smart, just as smart as Jared and he was older, wiser. He’d know what to do.  
**

“So what are you saying?” Jeff stood in front of the cell the kid was in, looking through the glass in the door. He didn’t seem angry that Jared had grabbed a hostage even though Jeff hated hostage-taking. _”Too messy, too dangerous, too traumatizing for the victims”_ he would say, and in most cases Jared agreed. Just… this was about Jeff, about family. The usual rules didn’t apply for family.

Jared stepped closer to take a look himself and Jeff gave up his place in front of the small window, sighing wearily. He’d been in the station since ten in the morning, and Jared knew it was exhausting without having to look at him. Jeff’s clothes were rumpled – the good suit, even, and Jeff hated rumpled suits – and his hair a mess. He looked like … well, like someone who’d been interrogated by cops for hours and then hurried to find his little brother in their secret hiding space, to be honest. Jared refused to feel guilty – his reasons were valid.

Looking into the small room, Jared first couldn’t find his captive. The kid wasn’t on the mat, but since the chain was still where he’d left it tied, Jared just had to follow that. His eyes were drawn upwards, and true, there he was. Birdboy – true to his name – was up on the high beams, curled into a ball against the cold concrete-walls.

Damn.

“I’m saying,” he continued their conversation “that someone’s been messing with him, and I’m prepared to bet that it’s not some villain.”

“Right, that’s what I thought you’re saying. But let me go further – you’re saying that freaking Batman is dipping his dick into places it’s got no business being dipped? Because Jared… the possibility of someone _other_ than the Bat doing it is pretty slim. Hell – the possibility of Batman doing it is pretty slim in itself.”

“I know. Don’t you think I know? It’s why you’re here and talking to me – I don’t know what to do. My plan was to just let him ‘escape’ after he saw the Jester took him, to confirm that you can’t possibly be their man. But…”

“But now you don’t want to send him back if there’s a possibility someone’s fucking him?”

“Right. Crude, but right.”

Jeff sighed again and scratched his scalp. “I get that. But … we can’t just keep him, Jared. He’s not just a kid, he’s Batman’s sidekick. There’s gonna be hell of a manhunt for him.”

“I know, I know. But I’m not … I can’t. Jeff. He’s… Even if – no, especially if the bat is hurting him, that’s not enough reason to let him walk right back. And you know he would.”

Jared didn’t add that Jeff of all people would. Jeff’d been ‘walking back’ from the age of thirteen until Jared had finally managed to find out why his strong, big brother had always come back from church tearful and moody – and had promptly told their dad about his discovery.

Jared didn’t _need_ to add that – Jeff would know full well, would know better than anyone. And so it didn’t surprise him when Jeff turned towards their research-room and changed into his own Jester-suit, complete with mask and voice-modulator.

“I’ll talk to him,” he said and went into the cell.

Jared was glad he didn’t have to – he’d probably cry and be no help whatsoever.

**

Jensen heard the door’s lock at once, but didn’t move. He wasn’t dumb enough to believe the Jester wouldn’t know where he was – the little window wasn’t exactly hidden. But wouldn’t not make it easy for him, and up high, he felt like he had an advantage. Probably not true, but still – couldn’t hurt to stay up here.

The man who entered was quite certainly the Jester – same height, same built, same stupid hat and [costume](http://canisalbus.deviantart.com/art/The-Jester-511275005), same reddish-brown pants and high boots with those silly tips, same jacket with the weird tassled top-part, all those stupid leather-ties and most of all the very stupid [mask](http://www.maskparty.co.uk/ekmps/shops/maskparty/images/red-gold-jester-glazed-mask-on-headband-or-ribbon-262-p.jpg). Red glaze around the eyes and on the cheeks enhancing the light-gold of the face, big eye-holes which showed those eerily fake blue eyes underneath – contacts, for sure – and the large mouth and wide nose all lend to a weirdly friendly, extremely creepy appearance.

All was the same, and yet Jensen peaked up when the man entered. Because _something_ was different, and that could mean bad things – or just interesting things.

“Hey kid.” Same voice. “You know I can see you, right?”

Jensen snorted but didn’t speak.

“Just making sure. So… you gonna stay there? Fine by me, but if you do, I’ll be right here at the door. Not gonna let you get the drop on me, which I mean quite literally.”

Haha, Jensen thought, but he was still trying to figure out what was different here.

“Anyway. How old are you? I guess… well. I don’t guess well, but since the bat had his sidekick rejuvenated about four years ago, and you were pretty skimpy back then, my guess is somewhere between twenty and seventeen. Am I close?”

Jensen didn’t speak, and he wasn’t overly impressed. Everyone with a brain would be able to figure that out. The Jester sat down right next to the door with a weary sigh, and that was something different, too. He’d been bouncing around, nearly, his legs and feet swinging up and down and his hands always in motion the time he’d been with Jensen before. Where did all that energy go?

The man on the floor didn’t look up, just stared at the wall opposite. A quick glance showed Jensen that there was nothing to see, so he prepared for a monologue. Probably something about regret and death, all that usual crap.

“You know, when I was a kid, much younger than you, ow – my parents were quite religious. We used to go to church all the time, every Sunday and even during the week. Reverend Umberhil was a friend of the family, they had kids … my age. We used to play together. His daughter, Mary… she was only a few days younger than me.”

Ah, so not an evil death-monologue. More like a heartbreak-sob-story, then. Well… Jensen wasn’t stupid, he knew most villains didn’t start as villains, that there was usually a trigger-moment in their lives. Didn’t change the fact that they chose crime, so… But he might as well listen – there was no entertainment here other than stories.

“One day, when I went over, Mary wasn’t home. She’d been with another friend and forgot to tell me. But the Reverend, he was nice, offered to let me help with the cookies. My mom was ill you know and uh… there wasn’t anyone else at home. It was boring, and cookies… always awesome.” The Jester fell silent, probably looking into the past.

“It was nice. So next time Mary forgot to tell me she wasn’t home, I just went to look for Jim. Reverend Underhil, that was his name. Jim. He offered I could call him Jim and showed me what he’d prepared for Sunday sermon.”

Another sigh.

“I was happy, you know? It was nice, cozy. My dad, he was working a lot, rarely home, and my mom … she had her hobbies and m… we just didn’t spend much time together. Just wouldn’t come up. Nothing neglectful or anything… normal I guess. And it was pretty cool to be able to call the Reverend by his name, right?

So, I soon started helping him in the church, setting things up. My parents were happy – they loved the church and were really happy I was taking an interest. I even wanted to be a reverend myself when I grew up. Sheesh… funny how that turned out.”

It sounded like the Jester smirked, but Jensen couldn’t see a facial expression. He longed for some expression, but… He already had an inkling where this was heading, and he didn’t like it. Not one bit.

“Of course, things went awful. I was…don’t know. Twelve I think. Just a kid, you know? Dumb. My family, they think I was thirteen when it started, but it really had been going on for some time until J- someone got a hint. So… anyway. Twelve and dumb when his hand was first in my pants, and I… no-one was there, you know? Just he and I, and I didn’t really run away. Wanted to, but… he was Jim, right? A friend. Friends don’t run away from friends.”

Shit.

Why was he telling Jensen that stuff? Why the hell was he still talking – Jensen didn’t want to hear that. Hadn’t asked him to tell. “Stop,” he said, not loud but clear. “Stop.”

“Yeah, ‘s what I told him too. Didn’t listen now, did he? Told me I’d go to hell if I would tell on a man of the church, told me he’d make my family go to hell. So… dumb kid that I was, I believed him.”

“Didn’t you tell anyone?”

The Jester might have looked up at his words, but the mask made no move. “Naw. Didn’t dare. What if he really could send my family to hell, right? Couldn’t risk it. So… I went back there when he asked me. He used to have this… this code. He’d call my parents and tell them that Mary wanted to play and once, when I refused, he took them aside after church on Sunday. How disappointed Mary had been. Stuff like that. I… well. They more or less sent me back there next time, and I couldn’t really come up with any reason why I wouldn’t go. Mary was nice, you know? Really nice. Just… had a fucker as a dad.”

Jensen snorted, couldn’t help it. “Yeah, literally.”

This time, there was a small chuckle from below. “Totally. Anyway… went back there for years. Till I was fifteen. ‘Til my… uh, friend of mine followed me one day, watched… yeah, stuff. And ran back and told my parents. Jeeze. What a mess. That got ugly real soon, real bad. People saying that I told lies, spitting at us on the sidewalk. As if I’d asked for him to shove his dick in my ass, for fuck’s sake!”

Up on the rafter, Jensen winced. Things wouldn’t be much different if he ever told – if someone would even believe him. And no-one had believed him when he did, so yeah… fuck them.

“People refused to believe me, cause… well, he was the Reverend. Everyone loved him, he did lots of good in the community and well. I was just a kid. Probably with too much imagination.” The Jester snorted, but not in mirth. “Yeah, wish I had.”

Then he finally moved and those blue eyes looked _right at_ Jensen, boring right into his skull. “But it stopped. It was still worth it, it stopped. We moved, my family was awesome and most of all _it stopped_! I’ll never regret… I’ll never forget what my friend did for me when he told everyone. I’m forever in his debt, even if he’d never accept it.”

“Yeah, but your Reverend Jim wasn’t motherfucking Batman, now. Was he?” Shit, shit. Jensen should’ve kept his mouth shut! Shit…

But there was just a small chuckle. “No, that’s true.”

“And people – like, the police or someone – would totally believe that a kid gets peddled by some creepy reverend, but who in the police would believe…”

“You?”

Just a small nod.

“Guess not many, huh? So… how old are ya? Seventeen?”

“Eighteen. Now it’s even legal, so there’s even less to tell.”

“It’s not legal no matter your age, kid. It’s still rape.”

“Don’t I know that? I fucking know that!” Jensen was yelling now, not curled up but walking along the wooden beam, too agitated to sit still. “I still don’t have much choice.”

“What about your predecessor? Nightclub?”

 

“Nightwing. Tze. Dick… that dick” whoops –nearly slipped, there. No matter his opinion of Dick, he didn’t want him to be unmasked. Didn’t want him dead. “I tried to talk to him, but he refuses to listen. Though he knows, that ass. He knows, he _warned_ me when I first moved… well. Moved in. I don’t know if he ever… but he’s no help. He just turns his back on me,” fuck, fucking tears. He’d not cried for ages, not since that day when he tried pleading with Dick and fell on deaf ears – or rather, refusing ears. “just walks away. I’m on my own, and I have no choice. Once he gets here and gets you to prison… well. I’m back there, with no way out.”

“I don’t wanna step on your toes, but aren’t you… you know, kinda strong enough to fight him?”

“Have you _seen_ him? He’s a tank, seriously. You are pretty built yourself, but B-Batman… he’s a force of nature. Can’t fight him.” He’d have to kill him. And there were too many complications with that. Because it wasn’t as if he never thought about it, but there’d be pandemonium on the streets. The gangs would get even bolder, the weird supervillains would crowd the city like roaches in a dirty kitchen, and there’d be no-one to clean up this mess. And Jensen wouldn’t be a good choice to take over. Because to be honest… Jensen wasn’t feeling that much love for this shithole of a city.

The Jester stood up, looking at him and there was … something, something different.

_”ow – my age. My b- my friend. We…“ maybe not ‘ow’, maybe it was supposed to be ‘our’? But if so… Why would he deny a brother if he had one… If that brother saved him, why not mention him? What reasons would you have to keep someone hidden… except a secret identity, of course. Well… who’da thought…_

“Shit. You didn’t abduct me, did you?”

“Uh… I’d like to say I just borrowed you?”

“No…. no no. You didn’t kidnap me. You weren’t even there. You… there was a reason you weren’t there, because … fuck, the police already had you, didn’t they? So you weren’t there at the bank – it was your brother!”

Silence from below, but suddenly Jensen just knew. Just _knew_ he was right. “Holy shit, you’re Jeff Padalecki. They had you, too much evidence, and only real solid proof would get you out of this mess. Damn, that’s smart. That’s _smart_! So your brother went to be the Jester to grab me, and … you never wanted to hold me here, didya? Or… should ask your brother I guess. I’d go back, tell everyone how I was captured by the Jester – the true Jester – and they’d let you go, and would be back on square one. Damn… good move! Genius, really!”

He hadn’t noticed in his glee that the door-lock snicked, but when a different voice – unaltered and quite nice – came from below, he had to acknowledge that walking on a narrow piece of wood with a long chain trailing down from his legs while serenading a pair of villains – who were in grasping range of those chains, for Pete’s sake! – wasn’t the smartest thing he’d ever done.

Fuck.

“Well, thanks, kid.” The voice which belonged to a tall, young guy with too-long hair and a big dimpled smile said. “I’ve always told Jeff that I’m a genius but he refuses to believe.” The voice was wearing the same costume minus the mask and hat, and Jensen couldn’t help but admire how similar they looked.

“Jared,” the costumed Jester sighed. “Really? Did you have to come in now?”

“Jeff. He knows anyway. What’s the use in keeping hidden? It’s not like it’s a secret that Jeff Padalecki has a brother named Jared, right?”

Shit. Shit shit shitshitshit. He was dead. So dead. They’d kill him – he knew their identity, could tell everyone… they’d kill him. Hopefully, they’d just shoot him, then it would be quick, at least.

“Now… wanna come down and return the favor? I mean…You know us and our names, we’d like to call you something other than Featherboy.”

“Robin. My name’s Robin, you ass.”

“No.” Jared was suddenly dead-serious. “Robin is some selfish little asshole who let a kid walk right into the hands of a pedophilic madman with hero-issues. Robin is an asshole – and your name isn’t Robin.”

“Jared.”

“No. No, Jeff. Who does that? I mean, if the police doesn’t believe him…well. I can even see where they’re coming from. But someone who knows what’s happening, who knows he’s telling the truth just refusing? That’s another level of sick.”

Jensen didn’t think that was entirely fair. Dick had known what would happen –yes. But if he’d known, he’d have to _know_ and Jensen was pretty aware of the magnetism his mentor possessed. Then, there was the thrill of chasing bad guys, the believe that what they did was right and righteous.

Dick believed all that. He didn’t just use the fighting to quell his anger – he wasn’t really an angry kind of guy in the first place. Not like Jensen.

For someone as entirely _good_ as Dick, it might even be alright to suffer something for the sake of others, to sacrifice something so strangers might live.

Jensen… wasn’t made that way. He wasn’t as good, he knew that full well. He’d fought most times, tried to refuse and in the end, Bruce had stopped trying to be a gentle lover and just took what he wanted, and if that left him less satisfied than a compliant Dick Grayson would… well.

All the better.

Still, no matter how much he kinda understood Dick, he sure as hell wouldn’t defend him. He’d rather get on with it and get it over.

“Hey… Could you two maybe bicker later and kill me now? I’m kinda not in the mood here.”

They looked up, and Jensen would laugh about how funny that looked. But he couldn’t– he really kinda didn’t want to die.

“Kill you?” the two said in unison, which made things even more surreal.

“Why would we kill you?” Jared asked, such confusion on his face that Jensen couldn’t help but believe him. Jeff was another matter – he was unreadable underneath his mask.

“Uh… what else would you do with me?” He was really hoping they’d just kill him or let him go. Anything else Jensen could imagine was just too scary right now. “I mean, I know who you are.”

“Right. And we still don’t know you. Wanna help us here? Or…” The sentence didn’t go on, but it didn’t need to. The _or we’ll make you_ lay heavy in the air.

**

So, turned out not just Gotham’s hero was a pedophile but also Gotham’s most-loved millionaire. Well, who’da thought that.

Jared still stared at the boy – young man, really, he wasn’t a child after all even though he looked a lot younger than eighteen – and couldn’t believe it. Bruce Wayne, philanthropist extraordinaire. Benefactor of too many child-charities than you could count got his own little kid for home, and he liked to play with it rough if the bruises he spotted on Jensen’s arm and the ligature marks were an indication.

The kid – Jensen! – was sitting at their table, playing with one of his knifes. Jeff wasn’t so keen on giving it back, but Jared had convinced him. Jensen wouldn’t kill them, he didn’t have a reason to.

Jeff made a good point though about how some of their … uh, well, colleagues, for lack of a better word – had turned up in prison. And how it hadn’t been Batman’s fists in their faces.

Justified or not, that kid had anger-issues a mile high. Explosive, dangerous anger-issues. But for some unexplainable reason, Jared was sure they’d figure it out.

“I have to die.” Jensen’s voice in the silence was loud and clear, and he sounded sure and certain. “I have to die, otherwise he’s never going to let me go. Di… uh, Robin… I mean Nightwing – “ as if Jeff and he wouldn’t know by now that Dick Grayson used to be Robin, duh. “- he moved out and did his own thing. He – Bruce… wasn’t happy with that… he just molded a surrogate for him. Complete with hair-dye and all the gymnastics-stuff. I have to die, and he’ll have to be in such deep shit that he’s never going to dare find another one, turn them into his fantasy.”

Jensen looked sad for a moment, no hint of aggression anymore. Like he lost something valuable and was mourning it, and in a way that was probably true.

If Jared was really honest and just left the wrongness out of it, he could see how someone would fall head over heels for the young man in front of him. Jensen was very handsome, with big green eyes under a black shock of hair, lean body with slim muscles and no fat to see. His eyes gave him a vulnerable look that was offset interestingly by an already strong jawline and a completely manly body. He did look a little like a young Dick Grayson, too.

Jared wondered what color Jensen’s hair really had.

“So… how about we kill each other, huh? I’m sure together, we can figure something out.”

Jared would rather kill Bruce fucking Wayne, but Jeff and Jensen had made a valid argument against it. “A suicide – pact? I’m all for it,” he said instead, and when he saw Jensen’s sharp, slightly manic grin, something shifted inside. Something shifted sideways and some other thing fell into place, and all in all, he knew he’d go with that boy wherever the fates decided to drop him.

Their lives would sure be even more interesting from now on.

“Jared, c’m on. You’re just as smart as I am, help me plot our deaths.”

Awesome.

 

~end for now~  


 


End file.
